Do I Really Have Anything to Say?

I have a friend in Australia. She’s a friend though we’ve never met, I’ve never been to Australia, and she’s never been to Tennessee. But because of this blog, I found her blog and she found mine and now we chat in comment sections, on Facebook and, later this year, in person!

She’ll be in the US on her grand tour (fine, it’s a vacation) and her travels will take her to within a few hours’ drive of my house. Since she’s already come all the way across the world, she’s being kind enough to drag herself and her family an additional 250 miles or so to see me and mine.

In return, I’m going to ask my wife to make a pumpkin cheesecake while I cook out on the grill. Totally fair trade, right?

One of the common threads in our “conversations” has been to compare language, usage, and idioms between Australian English and American English (which I tend to refer to as Americanese). Often times, the offending phrase is rooted in some southern-ism – mine in the southern US, hers in the southern parts of Australia, and the world for that matter – to the extent that I am now her go-to person in for explanation of all things odd and below the Mason-Dixon line.

Now, you likely know by now that I am not a southerner by birth. As a result, to many southerners, I am not now, nor will I ever become, a southerner. That said, I have spent nearly a decade in the South (Holy smokes! How did that happen?) now so I can fake it pretty well. Just the other night, one of my sons had a friend over. When his mom came to get him, she knew immediately that my wife was not from ‘round here, but thought that I was. She was shocked to hear of my New York origins and I have to admit that I was somewhat pleased. By no means do I hide or undersell my place of birth – it is a great source of pride for me – but I also pride myself on being adaptable as a result of the diversity that upbringing provided. So I was very smug pleased to see that my work as a secret agent had born fruit – I had successfully infiltrated the Confederacy and can now be mistaken as a native son.

It caused me to reflect upon that notion at various times over the rest of the weekend. Had I lost my identity? Had I been diluted? Granted, I was “recognized” at work for being a bit, ahem, northeastern in my dealings just a couple of weeks ago. But that was a positive thing, right? No holds barred is sometimes the only way to go, especially when a “bless your heart” is too subtle. At the same time, though, I do find myself more at home in my bucolic lifestyle than I used to be. I yearn for the big city less often than ever before. But me, a Southerner? I don’t think so yet. Maybe not ever.

Perhaps I’m just not looking far enough to the south. Australia’s very nice this time of year…

Tags: Americanese, australia, southern